From Dad

A fish Named Bob

A large portion my retirement time has been invested in family. It’s much more rewarding than being selfish. But you could say I’m selfish. I just love the feeling I get from bonding with my Grandsons.

We’ve built wonderful memories. Margie and I like being a part of their energetic youth. We’re the most faithful grandparents at their ball games. My impulsive emotions are heard from the stands. Margie is a little embarrassed occasionally, but I’d pout if she stopped me.

Spring break is a biggie. We take the boys to Pickwick for “skipjacking”. These are bait fish and not edible. They sure are fun to catch though. It’s exciting to reel them in while they dance on their tail. It must be kosher because Bill Dance fished along side us once.

The annual trip was a success. “I got one, Poppy!” is music to my old
ears. They keep track of the number. One stopped at 22 because it was his
baseball jersey number.

The youngest had other plans. He caught one and put it in a bucket. He named him Bob. Then he got another one and said it was “Bob’s cousin”.

One older brother pleaded with him to turn them loose. “They’re gonna
die!” He exclaimed. Reluctantly he put them back.

I spent most of the time tying on baits, etc. My number 2 grandson smiled when I told him, “I’m getting concerned about myself, I’m beginning enjoy this.”

The day was concluded with buffet pizza. They eat slices like finger foods. It’s getting harder ever year. Zapped Margie and I sat down with tired, aching bodies. I mustered up some “I love my Grandsons” energy and said, “I’d like to do it again